The Garage Tableau
by Luna C. Starque
Summary: Kyle's angsty, and I can't get my ideas across. Oh, and the title is a theatre term: a tableau is when a group of actors makes a still picture on stage. This has very little relevance to the story, but I thought it sounded nice. ONESHOT. Please review!


_A/N: I wrote this a while ago, but I've been reluctant to put it up. It's a little angsty, because it's kind of an explanation for my love of the South Park boys from Kyle's point of view and I couldn't really get my ideas across very well. It's also a slight companion to "He Loves Me Not." Or at least, Cartman's little crush is existent. Anyways, I offer it to you for your reading pleasure (?) now, as I can't think of any other ways to improve it. It would be really great if you could review and help me to improve it so I can repost it. Well, erm, happy reading? I hope._

_Luna_

Kyle watched as Kenny lit a cigarette, brought it to his lips, and inhaled deeply. The boys, including Cartman and Stan, were hanging out in Cartman's garage. With a _puff_, Kenny exhaled a ring of smoke. Cartman applauded. "Sweet! Let me try!" he said, making a grab for the cigarette.

"Get your own, fat-ass!" Kenny replied, snatching the cigarette away from Cartman's groping hands, instead throwing him the half-full pack and the lighter.

"Hey," said Kyle. "Do you sometimes think we're growing up too fast?"

The other boys turned to stare at him in confusion. There was a long, awkward silence, during which Kenny took several long drags on his cigarette. Finally, Stan said, "Dude, you sound like my mom."

Cartman managed to light his own before sucking down eagerly, and immediately having a coughing fit. Stan and Kenny laughed. After Cartman had stopped coughing, he looked up at Kyle, red and panting, and said, "Yeah. What the hell are you talking about?"

"Well, it's just-- I mean-- we're only fourteen!" Kyle said desperately.

"And your point is...?" asked Kenny.

Kyle groaned in frustration. "Think about it, Kenny. Why do you smoke?"

"Because it makes me feel good," said Kenny. Kyle could hear the tacit _duh _attached to the statement.

"Exactly. Why does it make you feel good?"

Kenny rolled his eyes and sighed. "It calms me down when I'm stressed out."

"Exactly! Normal fourteen-year-olds don't smoke to calm down! Or they shouldn't, at least. We should be playing basketball or something!"

"Well, what about the Goth kids? They smoke," said Cartman.

"I said _normal _teens."

"Yeah, the Goth kids are fags," Stan agreed.

Kyle was refreshed to see a look of comprehension on Stan's face. He was getting through to someone, at least. It wasn't that he really minded Kenny smoking. Kyle wasn't' quite sure what was bothering him about this little gathering. It was almost as if none of them cared about anything anymore. As they had grown up, they hadn't stopped hanging out together, but with each passing year they seemed to grow farther apart.

It had started with Kenny. Kyle had noticed how Kenny had suddenly become the biggest whore in South Park (after, of course, Liane Cartman). He'd started smoking, and occasionally experimented with things worse than cigarettes when he was bored. Kenny had "grown up" and the others hadn't. And then Stan had started dating Wendy again. He hadn't ditched them to hang out with her, but every time he was with them and not Wendy, Kyle suspected his mind was on the latter. And then it was just Kyle and Cartman, and they'd never been the best of friends.

It depressed Kyle. He'd hoped that they'd be close friends forever, but now he felt like he was the glue holding the group together. He was the only one still making the effort to keep the friendship alive. Sometimes he wondered if the effort was really worth it.

Stan, Kenny, Cartman. Stan-- Kyle's lifelong best friend. They'd shared everything, except Wendy, obviously. And now that Stan's life was filling up with the one thing he'd never be able to share with Kyle, the redhead wasn't sure he could take it. And Kenny-- Kyle's heart went out to him. Kenny, whose parents neglected him, had sought comfort and companionship in the other three boys when he was young, and later as the years went by, his friends had been replaced by the girls. Lots of them. Each week a different one, and he held no genuine love for any of them. It almost made Kyle want to cry-- underneath Kenny's lecherous exterior, there was still a child-- vulnerable and afraid of being hurt. Finally, Cartman-- Kyle hated Cartman, pure and simple. The fat kid went out of his way to make Kyle uncomfortable. He ripped on the Jews, Kyle's mother, Kyle's lack of self-esteem. Anything and everything that bothered Kyle Broflovski about himself seemed fodder for Cartman's taunts. But sometimes, Kyle caught him staring at him with a look of greed and...was it lust?

Kyle sighed. Kenny had smoked the cigarette halfway down. Stan was texting, Kyle could only assume, Wendy, and Cartman... was staring at him. Again. "What do you want, asshole?" asked Kyle irritably.

Cartman started, looking shifty. "Nothing. Fuck off." Kyle shrugged and looked away.

He wished they were nine again.


End file.
